


Solitaire

by AlaeFatorum



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blackwatch Jesse McCree, M/M, but maybe with a questionable taste in movies, genji's having a bad time but mccree's a real good pal, neither of them are good at sleeping at reasonable times, original overwatch, there are kisses and hugs because these boys deserve them, there is some Drama bc genj is not in a good place but he's trying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 14:36:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9329264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlaeFatorum/pseuds/AlaeFatorum
Summary: Genji's having a very bad day and goes to his favorite cowboy for help (and hugs).





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a while ago but finally worked up the courage to ask [sarcasticasides](http://sarcasticasides.tumblr.com/) if I could post something based on their fantastic mcgenji art ([specifically this one!!](http://sarcasticasides.tumblr.com/post/153389371396/sarcasticasides-when-ur-havin-a-bad-time-seek-ur)) so here it is!

It was going on 3:30 AM when Jesse finally gave up trying to sleep in his quarters and threw himself onto a nice, not-quite-as-soft-as-his-bed couch instead; a late-night news broadcast from an American station droned on low volume in the background. 

Blackwatch was lucky enough to get its own lounge of sorts at the Swiss base (and a handful of other watchpoints), if only because most of them didn’t have much contact with other Overwatch agents. It gave Blackwatch a space away from everyone else when they got back to base at any number of obscene hours, after any number of obscene missions they could never talk about. Even still, it had a tendency to remain empty, its existence simply an Overwatch pleasantry. Jesse kind of liked it, though. Somehow it didn’t feel as bad when he wasn’t sleeping if he passed the time pretending to watch the news somewhere other than his quarters. Sometimes Gabe did the same thing, so they would sit and talk about anything that came to mind. Usually just superficial stuff, like preferences in music, alcohol, cigars, guns, why Jesse’s hat was so stupid; later in the night they tended to drift towards grimmer subjects, like what his life was like back in Deadlock, or what Gabe saw during the Omnic Crisis. Or sometimes they just let the TV drone on and allowed the silence to sit between them.

  
The boss wasn’t here tonight, though, so he sat on the couch, alone, playing a game of solitaire on the coffee table. He chewed relentlessly on a piece of gum that was quickly losing its flavor, courteous enough not to smoke in a public place where the smell would seep into the furniture. It was safe to say he was completely unaware of whatever news the woman on the screen was talking about as he set down an ace of clubs on a two of hearts, finishing his set.  
A creak as the door slipped opened, a click as it slipped shut again. He stared at his cards while he tried to identify who’d entered— the apparent lack of footsteps was telltale, their owner silent as he moved. Jesse turned to face him as he came around the curve of the couch, confirming his guess, though still surprised to see him for a handful of reasons. Like what exactly Genji Shimada was doing in the Blackwatch lounge at 4 AM, for instance.

  
“Aw hey, Genji, how’re y—“  


“Hey,” was the response, robotic and soft. McCree’s immediate read on him was that something was wrong, but then again, it was 4 am on a Wednesday: maybe he was just tired. Regardless, the cyborg stood before him with his visor off, face unbelievably scarred with a swathe of black hair—still dyed green at the tips—surrounded by various pieces of metal and tech. The sight made him sad. He always looked so lonely.

  
It was true they’d grown closer over the past six months—especially after Genji had rescued him during a mission in Ilios that had left him with a minor brain injury (Dr. Ziegler had insisted it wasn’t a concussion, so he’d best not go around calling it that)—but that didn’t mean he wasn’t surprised when there was suddenly a hand in his hair, another on his shoulder, lips on his own, the upper warm flesh and the bottom cold and metallic.

  
And it’s so hard for him not to give in, because it’s entirely possible that he wants this and has wanted it for months, but he knows there’s something wrong. He knows Genji.  
So he doesn’t. He pulls his head back, brings up a hand, presses his fingers against Genji’s lips, pushes him back a little. He receives a puzzled look that teeters on desperation and disappointment.  
“Hey, ah, hold up now, Genj. Just a sec, yeah?” A pause before he asks tepidly, “… Are you okay?”

  
Like water on the rocks, Jesse watches his resolve crumble. The cyborg visibly deflates, all kinds of miserable, and for a moment Jesse feels like the cruelest person in the world. No one deserves this much unhappiness.

  
“… No,” is the cyborg’s response, little more than a whisper, a single word so heartbreakingly cracked and broken it’s practically a whimper. His body starts to shake ever so slightly and his eyes flood with tears—Jesse had once wondered if Genji’s tears were synthetic or not, but in this moment, he doesn’t care. He reaches out to pull the cyborg into a hug, wanting so badly to help him through this, whatever this was. Jesse knew he’d had bad days before, but the Shimada had never sought him out like this. Genji falls into the hug with ease and buries his face into Jesse’s shoulder, attempting with little success to mask a handful of full-blown sobs. He wants to make this better; he just doesn’t know quite what to say.

  
“Hey, it’s alright… I’ve got you, yeah? I just didn’t want you to do something you’d regret, and I’m-- I’m here for you, Genj. You shoulda said somethin’. I’m here for you.”  
The only response he gets is another choked sob as Genji clings to him tighter, pulling his legs up onto the couch in an attempt to curl up against him. Jesse can tell he’s trying desperately to say something, but it’s hard to make out the words with Genji’s face pressed into his shoulder, unsure of how to speak amidst the tears and gasps for air. Finally the Shimada turns his head, nose poking into Jesse’s neck, in an attempt to speak with more clarity.

  
“My brother tried to kill me today.”

  
That sentence took an awful lot of thought for how late at night it was—or early in the morning, he supposed. The first realization: that “today” did not literally mean today, but instead the date, like an anniversary. The second: Genji had a brother. There was a point where he’d known at least the rough hierarchy of the Shimada clan, and it occurred to him that he had actually known that tidbit of information and forgotten it. Or maybe he just hadn’t associated it with Genji himself, not wanting to pry into his past, finding that the conflicted cyborg in his arms had little in common with the infamous yakuza playboy he’d read about in reports. The third realization: Jesse finally knew who had left Genji bleeding out in Hanamura a year ago, who had been responsible for Genji’s cyborg body, who was the reason Genji was currently sobbing into his shoulder. The final realization:

  
“It’s our anniversary.” There was a… slight leap in logic between Genji’s statement and Jesse’s own that didn’t quite register in his mostly sleep-deprived brain. But it was true—if today was really the day Genji had nearly died, then it was the same day McCree had technically met him for the very first time, stumbling upon his bleeding and broken body in Hanamura. Jesse had thought he was dead. He’d almost left him there.

  
“What do you mean?”

  
“Oh, God, uh, sorry, Genj... didn’t mean to say that one out loud. It’s just, well, it’s been a year since I met you, is all. Like an anniversary, of sorts.”

  
He couldn’t tell if he’d made things better or worse—he thought the cyborg’s sobs became softer, but he’d buried his head even further into the crook of Jesse’s neck, and made no more attempts to speak. Jesse tried to comfort him, running his hand gently through Genji’s hair, knowing that even after a year it was only now starting to properly grow back.

  
“I’m sorry, Genji,” was all he could think to say.

  
“It’s not… ‘s not your fault, Jesse,” he murmured into his skin, having to pause for a sniffle and a small hiccup.

  
“It might be,” he said quietly, pausing, trying to find the right words. “If you were… looking for something to take your mind off things, I might have an idea. Like, a really, really good movie and a serape that’s guaranteed to make you feel at least a little better.”

  
“That… sounds nice,” he answered finally, and Jesse took it as his opportunity to slide his arm under Genji’s legs, set another against his back, and lift. He stood up from the couch with Genji in his arms, robotic arms looped around his neck, and Jesse began the walk back to his room. He spit his gum into the trash on the way out, leaving the newscaster and his game of solitaire behind. The sudden air brushing against his chest is an interesting sensation, his shirt now tear-stained.

  
“And maybe we can get you some tissues that are better than my shirt, yeah?”

  
“… Yeah.” Jesse swore he almost laughed. That was promising.

  
Jesse’s room smelled lightly of cigarillo smoke, an aroma that stuck to furniture and clothing alike. Hopefully Genji didn’t mind— though he’d never complained about it before. McCree nudged the door shut with his foot, kicked a few dirty clothes out of the way as he walked, and set Genji down on the couch next to where his serape was folded neatly. Jesse may not have been the neatest person, but he took care of what mattered. After a moment of contemplation (and some assurance from Jesse, who was still shoving clothes out of sight), Genji gingerly took the serape from its resting spot and wrapped it around himself. Satisfied that his room looked slightly more presentable, Jesse turned on the TV and put on a semi-recently remastered version of The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly. Pleased with his choice in film, Jesse returned to the couch and leaned back as Genji sprawled out across his lap, clearly still upset, but beginning to look better. Cozier, at the very least.

  
They didn’t talk much, letting the movie fill the silence, but it was nice. Though Jesse found himself watching Genji more than the movie.

  
“You feelin’ any better, Genj?”

  
“Yeah,” he said sleepily, “your movies are kinda weird, though.”

  
Jesse gawked at him, feigning extreme offense. “No they ain’t! This one’s a classic.”

  
Genji snickered before growing somber again, thinking, searching for the right words.

  
“I’m sorry I kissed you earlier.”

  
“Aw hell Genji, don’t worry about it. You’re in a rough spot, I get it. And 's not like I hadn't done my fair share o' flirting with you before--”

  
“Nah. I shouldn’t have surprised you like that. You deserve better and I was... kind of an ass.”

  
“Then... I guess you could make it up to me, since you were apparently kind of an ass,” Jesse said quietly, leaning forward until his lips were inches away from Genji’s own. “If… you still wanted to kiss me, anyways. You don’t have to, I mean, I’d get it—“

  
“For all your talk, you’re not very smooth, cowboy.”

  
“Hey, you don’t gotta be—“

  
Genji’s hand pulled his head down those last inches as they pressed their lips together and kissed, the act soft and sweet and perfect for the few moments until Jesse pulled away, his neck beginning to cramp. A smile crept onto both of their faces, and Jesse knew that he at least was certainly blushing— though he couldn’t speak for Genji, only able to see his face in the light of the television, he could make a few assumptions. 

  
“… It’s still a great movie,” he declared, shifting his position so that he was laying down instead of sitting, head resting on the arm of the couch. Genji muttered a “whatever, cowboy,” readjusting with him, still wrapped in his serape. He laid his head against Jesse’s chest, eyes fluttering, already starting to fall asleep. Jesse was sure to follow soon, and silence began to comfortably settle over them, until Genji spoke once more.

  
“Thank you, Jesse McCree,” he whispered, the sound groggy and muffled by the serape he’d snuggled into.

  
“Think nothin’ of it, Genji Shimada. I’m here for you, whenever you need me.”

  
There was a long pause, long enough that Jesse was sure he’d drifted off, but Genji spoke again. “I want to be there for you, too.”

  
“I think… I’d like that quite a lot.”

  
“… Sleep well, Jesse.”

  
“Sleep well, Genji.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at [celestial-pastry](http://celestial-pastry.tumblr.com) if you really want to, and make sure to check out [sarcasticasides](http://sarcasticasides.tumblr.com) because they're amazing!


End file.
